“What can I say? Men with fancy laundry systems just do it for me.” His eyes darken as I lick my lips. “Tell me, did you have it installed because suction turns you on?”
“I don’t need to stick my cock into a wall to have it sucked.”
“I expect you could just call Celeste,” I answer, deliberately using the wrong name.
“Or Celine. Or maybe both.”
“I could call Tod, and we could make a party of it.”
“If you want to see a grown man cry, that’s your prerogative.”
“Would you cry watching me kiss him?” I give an exaggerated pout and startle a little as I take in my own reflection. My eyes are dark, my hair is mussed, and my neck marked by patches of pink and red from his attentions.
When he palms my clit, I make that noise again. Reflexive, instant, and lust filled.
“There will be no Tod for you.” He presses my body between his hand and his cock. “Not while we’re—”
“Fake married?” I push my hand between us, wrapping my fingers around his thick girth.
“Greedy.” He grunts, pulling my hand away. He puts his lips to my wrist before lifting it to the back of his neck.
This ache, this need, it’s so bittersweet.
I take my breast in my free hand and we both watch as I scissor my fingers over my hardened nipple.
He almost growls my name. “You’re such a sweet little cock tease.”
He’s right. I am a picture of wantonness as I touch myself. Legs spread wide, Raif’s tan arm snaking around my waist, and his hand cupped firm between my legs.
“Real married,” he growls as his fingers tighten. My body jolts, pleasure pulsing through me.
“Fake relationship.” Upping the ante, I moan as I tug the peaked tip. “Seems one-sided that you can call Celine, but I can’t call Tod for a little… relief.”
“You want him stuffed in that suitcase?”
I almost cry out, but not for Tod. I’ve pushed Raif too far as his hand slips away. But my cries take on another edge as he thrusts it under the waistband of my pajama shorts.
He grunts as he parts my flesh, dragging two fingers through my wetness. “Is this the kind of relief you need, princess? Fuck.”
“Yes!” My body twists under his touch, the relief sublime, yet not enough.
“Because no one else gets to touch you. This tight little body is mine,” he commands, pressing two long fingers inside me.
“Not,” I whisper as my hips buck, chasing his touch.
“Fucking mine,” he rasps, painting my arousal over my clit. “You get off on making me jealous.”
In the mirror, those feline eyes darken. My body bucks as he pinches my clit.
“Oh!” I swallow, my throat parched. “Oh!”Who knew that would feel so good?
“You’re trying to drive me fucking insane.” He fucks me with his fingers again and again. “And you excel at everything, don’t you, princess?”
If only he knew.
“You get off on tormenting me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” My answer is all breath and want as he plays me like a well-tuned instrument.
